Family Honor
by featherstorm
Summary: The CSIs must stop a killing spree before they themselves become the victims. Case!fic with elements of Danny/Lindsay and Sheldon/OFC. Mild violence. Some supernatural stuff. Written for the CSIverse Big Bang on LJ.


The NYPD crime lab is never exactly _quiet, _but at midnight, it's about as close as it gets. A veteran CSI rolls her shoulders as she leaves her office. She's submitted her final report on a double-homicide case and shut down her computer with relief. Her thoughts can finally turn away from the grisly details of murder to more comforting things, like chocolate and sleep. She'll catch four, maybe five hours of shut-eye before she has to be back on duty. Given that some nights she's lucky to get three, she's looking forward to the extra hour or two.

A little across town, two younger CSIs curl up in bed together, already falling asleep. The woman is obviously pregnant. Neither of them wears a ring. The man's arms are wrapped protectively around her, one hand resting on her swollen belly. He drowsily presses a kiss to her bare shoulder, making her smile. Their thoughts are far from the crime lab as they drift off.

A doctor lounges on his couch, a bowl of ice cream in his hands and a rerun of MASH on his television. Despite his surgeon's hands and medical training, he is also a CSI. Right now he's resolutely not thinking about work, or about the young woman who's caught his eye. For the most part it's working; he's laughing at the show and enjoying his ice cream. When the fictional doctors lose a patient, however, he remembers why he usually avoids medical shows. He sets aside his bowl and reaches for the remote to change the channel. For all that he has an early shift in the morning, he won't be going to bed soon.

A young woman stands, stretching out muscles kinked from sitting too long on the floor. Around her feet are pieces of a child's toy, a gift for a cousin's birthday. Surrounding both the woman and the toys is a chalk circle. She steps over the line, careful not to break it. She still has work to do. She gets ready for bed, setting an alarm for the morning. She is another CSI; her shift starts later in the day, but she plans to finish the present before then. Assuming, she knows, that she doesn't get called in early; being on call is part of the job. While she doesn't relish the thought of losing her morning off, she keeps her phone at hand, just in case.

Around the city, people are eating, sleeping, making love, leaving work, or just arriving there. A man in his sixties is leaving a bar. He only had a few drinks, just to take the edge off, but he knows he shouldn't drive. He decides to walk home; it's not far, and the cold February air feels good on his skin. He heads down an alley, his usual shortcut. He was a cop once, but time and alcohol have dulled his instincts. Right now he's focused on two things: walking straight and ignoring the aching hole in his heart where his wife used to be. He doesn't hear the man come up behind him. He turns at the sound of his name, but all he sees is the gun, and all he feels is pain. His killer is gone before his body hits the ground.

* * *

When Stella Bonasera had heard they had a body in an alley, she'd assumed it was a homeless person or a drunk. Tragic, to be sure, and obviously as worthy of a good investigation as any other crime, but nothing unusual. She took one look at Don Flack, though, and quickly revised her thinking. He looked grim. Not that he ever looked _happy_ standing beside a dead body, but this morning he was particularly bleak. Stella exchanged a look with Sheldon Hawkes as they headed for the detective. When they got close enough, she steeled herself and asked, "What do we have?"

Don met her eyes and she knew she wouldn't like the answer. "Detective Frank Donaldson, retired."

_Oh, damn. _ She looked at the body lying on the ground, swallowing hard. Hawkes echoed her curse aloud.

Don nodded his agreement of the sentiment. "I worked with him a couple of times."

"Same here," Stella murmured. "He was a good cop. Never gave us any grief for being scientists instead of straight-up detectives, either."

"I'd heard he retired," added Hawkes, his eyes on the body. "Left to take care of his sick wife, right?"

"Right. She passed about six months ago. Cancer." Don shook his head. "Guy survives that just to wind up dead in an alley. He deserved better than that."

"Do we know what happened?" Stella asked.

"Not yet. Looks like he was shot, but other than that..." He shrugged. "No witnesses have come forward yet. I've got uniforms canvassing the area. The girls who found him say he was already dead when they got here." He nodded at a couple of teenage girls huddled together near the mouth of the alley. "Apparently they use the alley as a shortcut on the way to school."

"So he was killed sometime in the night?"

"Looks like it." Don glanced at Sheldon, who was already nodding.

"I'll see if I can get that narrowed down for you. Given the weather..."

"I know. Do what you can."

Stella caught Don's eyes. "We'll find who did this."

His gaze was fierce. "I look forward to that." He nodded to them both. "Excuse me."

He walked away, leaving Stella and Sheldon looking at the body in front of them. A dozen questions were already dancing through Stella's mind. Who had shot Donaldson, and why? What was the vic doing in the alley in the first place?

"Alright," she said aloud, mentally preparing a battle plan. "Pictures, then you start on the body while I start on the scene."

Sheldon nodded and reached for his cameras. "I hate alleys," he said conversationally as he reached for his camera.

"Yeah, tell me about it."

"We gonna get any backup here?"

She gazed at the scene and its myriad puddles, smudges, and garbage. "We could use another pair of hands," she agreed. She pulled out her phone. "I'll call Ell in."

Sheldon glanced at her, surprised. "She's not on shift 'til later. What about --"

"Danny and Mac are still on the Thompson case, and Lindsay's confined to the lab." Stella shrugged and hit "send" on her phone. "Not like we haven't all come in on our mornings off before." She gave him a grin. "Plus? Rookie gets to do the dirtiest jobs."

"Oh, I remember." He smirked a little and raised his camera. "It's good not being the new guy."

* * *

The toy in Elenor Cleary's hands was glowing. It had no lights, no power cord, no batteries, but in her hands it glowed. To her mind's eye the light was more than light; it was the flow of energy through the pieces of the toy, moving from one place to another as she directed it. It wasn't a lot of energy, but it was enough to turn the wooden knobs and rails into something just a little bit more.

The strains of a samba broke through her concentration, jarring her badly enough that she nearly lost her grip on the toy. She hastily "tied off" the line of energy she had been manipulating and dropped out of her trance. "Crap." She sucked in a deep breath, setting down the toy and shaking out her hands.

Her phone was behind her on the nightstand -- way out of reach, naturally. She pushed herself to her feet. Her body protested the movement. A glance at the clock told her she'd been sitting for close to two hours. "No wonder," she muttered. She used the bed as a crutch as she reached for the phone, trying not to fall over. She finally got the phone to her ear and sat down heavily. "Cleary."

"Hey, Ell. Did I wake you?"

"Stella, hey. No, I'm awake. Sorry, I was just in the middle of --" she glanced at the toy on the floor, sitting in the center of a chalk circle -- "some chores."

"Any chance you could come in to work early? We've got a rather messy crime scene, and if we don't want to be out _all_ day..."

"Right, of course. Let me grab something to write on... By 'messy', you mean...?" she asked as she dug through her nightstand, looking for a piece of paper and pen.

"I mean messy. It's an alley."

Ell scrunched up her face, sticking out her tongue. Aloud, all she said was, "Okay," but internally she swore. _This is what you signed up for, girl,_ she reminded herself as she scribbled down the location. _If you'd wanted to stay clean, you could have gone for straight-up lab work, or gone into research._ "I'll be there in half an hour," she told Stella.

She got lucky with traffic and reached the alleyway twenty-five minutes later. Stella stood as she approached, giving her a brief approving nod. "Sorry to cut into your morning."

"It's okay. Where do you need me?"

"We'll work outwards, away from the body. You move towards the back of the alley, I'll move forward, and Sheldon will take the middle when he's done processing the body."

Ell exchanged a quick smile with Sheldon before her eyes slid down to their vic. "Who is he?"

Stella pressed her lips together tightly. "Detective Frank Donaldson, retired." She nodded at Ell's wide-eyed look. "He'd have been off the job before you came on, but I worked with him a few times. Good guy. Right now all we know is that he was shot in the chest sometime late last night. Robbery probably wasn't a motive -- there's still cash in his wallet." They headed for where Sheldon was preparing the body for removal. Ell kept one eye on the ground, both to avoid stepping in anything and to watch for evidence. Stella did the same.

When they reached Sheldon, he picked up the thread of explanation. "Lividity suggests he died in the position he was found. Entry wound, no exit wound, so we're not looking for a bullet in the alley. Killer was likely standing somewhere between here and the mouth of the alley, given how he fell."

"But," Stella added, "that's still an assumption. We process the whole scene, and then we'll go back and see if our assumptions hold up."

They broke and got to work. Ell fell into the rhythm of gathering evidence, tuning out the world around her and focusing solely on what was at hand. She scraped, swabbed, sampled, and bagged, inch by inch. Most of what she gathered wouldn't be relevant to their case -- that was what made a scene like this so frustrating -- but that was the job. You never really knew what was pertinent until it was analyzed. That puddle of urine might be three days old and left by some anonymous bum, or it might have been left by the perp or victim. Having a sample of that just might break the case.

She wrinkled her nose a little as she marked the freshly filled specimen container. Knowing how vital the evidence was didn't make it any more pleasant to collect.

A soft chuckle jarred her out of her thoughts. She glanced to her left to see Sheldon grinning at her. "What?"

"You should see your face right now."

She shrugged a little. "This place is kinda disgusting."

"This? Nah." He shook his head, smirking. "You should spend more time in the morgue. You don't know disgusting until you've seen -- and smelled -- a mostly-liquefied corpse."

"Oh, you are _not_ helping, Sheldon." She threw him an exasperated look.

He grinned back, unrepentant. "Just putting things in perspective."

"Thanks." She couldn't help but return his grin even as she turned back to her work. He had a knack for making her smile.

Two hours later, she had another reason to smile: they'd reached the ends of their respective pieces of the alley. She stood, stretching her back with a relieved sigh. "Finally."

"I hear ya." Stella offered her a slightly weary smile when she turned around. "You guys just about ready?"

Sheldon pulled off his gloves with a practiced maneuver. "Oh yeah."

Ell took a moment to run her gaze over her area one more time. "Yeah."

Sheldon's shoulder bumped hers as they headed for the exit. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." She shrugged, giving him an embarrassed little smile. "I would have liked to have found _something _interesting. A bullet, maybe."

He gave her an amused look. "No exit wound."

"I know. But... _something_, you know?"

"Cheer up." Stella grinned at her. "We have an entire truckload of evidence. I'm sure there's something interesting in there." They stopped in front of the SUV. The back was completely packed with evidence bags -- all of which they would have to process back at the lab.

Sheldon patted her shoulder. "We'll even let you take the first crack at it."

She shot him a look. "Thanks."

* * *

The first thing Danny did when he got back to the lab was to head to the break room in search of coffee. Much to his pleasure, Lindsay was in there when he arrived. It was weird how glad he was to see her, given that they'd been together barely four hours ago. "Hey," he greeted her as he entered the room.

She turned, smiling warmly at him. "Hey! I didn't expect to see you back here so soon."

"Me either." He reached over her head to grab a coffee mug from the cabinet. The motion gave him an excuse to slide an arm around her waist -- for balance, honest -- and give her a discreet squeeze. She leaned a shoulder against him, offering him a sweet smile. He stepped back reluctantly, holding up the mug. "Coffee."

She glanced at the coffee maker. "The pot in the back is decaf."

He made a face. "Thanks for the warning." He had no idea how she drank that stuff. She said it was better than nothing, but he really wasn't sure about that. He kept his mouth shut about it, though; the last time he'd said something, she'd told him that _some _men gave up caffeine alongside their pregnant wives and girlfriends, as a show of solidarity or something. As far as he was concerned, his job depended on him being as alert as possible, so giving up caffeine just didn't seem like an option.

She watched him pour his cup. "So how are you back so early?"

"Detective Byrne got a confession. Told him we'd found his hair at the scene and he spilled his guts."

She frowned. "I thought you didn't have a conclusive match."

"He didn't know that."

"Guilty conscience?"

"Could be." He sipped his coffee. _Good stuff._ "So what are you up to?"

"Grabbing lunch." She tilted her head towards the microwave, which showed just under thirty seconds left. "I figured I'd eat while I had a chance -- Stella and company are on their way back with a boatload of evidence."

"Gotcha." He sniffed at the microwave. "What is that?"

"Reheated stew from last night." When it beeped, she opened the door. The heavenly scent of beef stew wafted from the machine.

Danny hovered closer, watching her stir it. He bounced a little on his feet. "Can I have a bite?"

She shot him an amused look but offered him the container. "Onebite. I'm the one eating for two, remember?"

He was good and took a small bite. He closed his eyes, savoring it. "I know I said it last night, but you make _great _stew."

"Thank you." She took the container back, laughing when he made her tug it out of his hands.

They moved to the table in the corner. He watched her eat for a few bites. As nonchalantly as possible, he said, "Have you thought about that other thing I said last night?"

She paused, giving him a look he knew far too well. "Danny. When I said I needed time to think about it, I meant more than twelve hours."

He grimaced. "I know." It wasn't a no, he told himself, it just... wasn't a yes. Yet. "I know. I'm not trying to push, I swear. I'm just... I want you to know I'm serious about it."

"I know you are," she said quietly, giving him a little smile. She curled a finger around his pinky. "I think it's sweet you're so concerned."

"Lindsay --"

She shook her head quickly. "I'm not making light of it. You're right, something could happen, and yes, I'd want you there. But living together is a big step, even if it's only temporary."

"I know." He ran his thumb over the inside of her wrist. "Just think about it."

"I am."

"Danny!" Mac poked his head into the room. "Saddle up -- we've got a scene. Hi, Lindsay," he added with a nod to her.

"Hey, Mac." She gave him a wistful little smile. "Are you sure I can't come?"

"Yes." Danny and Mac spoke in unison. Danny squeezed her hand as he slid out of his chair. "I'm sure we'll bring back plenty of stuff for you to process."

"Great."

He snagged another bite of stew, grinning at her protest. "Enjoy your lunch!"

* * *

Walking into the morgue was still a weird thing for Sheldon. He'd been a CSI for more than three years now, but it didn't seem to matter. He suspected he would always feel a little odd going in there as a guest rather than a resident. So to speak.

Not that he regretted the switch. Never had, never would. He _liked _being a CSI.

"Hey, Sid," he greeted the ME as he came in. "You got anything for me?"

"I do." The older man spread his hands. "Not a lot, unfortunately. I can tell you that your victim was killed by a single gunshot wound to the chest. The bullet ricocheted around the chest cavity causing massive internal trauma. Sadly..." He picked up a vial and handed it to Sheldon. "The bullet was also badly damaged in the process."

"Of course." Sheldon held up the vial, peering at the bullet. It barely warranted the name anymore. He strongly doubted they'd be able to use it to get a match to the murder weapon. Unless they got very lucky, the best they could do was establish the caliber. "Better than nothing," he muttered, shrugging a little. "What else?"

"He was drinking sometime before he died. Not a lot, but enough that he'd have been tipsy."

Sheldon nodded slowly. "Senses dulled, reaction time impaired. Makes sense. The man was a cop -- walking down a dark alley, you'd think he'd be on alert. Instead..." He waved a hand at the body beside them.

Sid made a sound of agreement. "Poor guy." He picked up a file, flipping through it. "Aside from the bullet and the alcohol, I don't really have anything to tell you. I didn't find anything else unusual for a man in his 60s. No defensive wounds or other injuries, no diseases. All in all, it was a very routine autopsy."

"Makes your life easier." Sheldon lifted the bullet, frowning at it. "My life harder."

He caught up to Stella in the hallway in the lab. She looked thoughtful after he filled her in on Sid's findings. "He had to have been drinking somewhere. There were a couple of bars not far from the alley. See what you can find out from that bullet. I'll see if I can figure out where our vic was _before _he was murdered."

* * *

You could often tell you were getting close to a crime scene about a block before you got there. There was congested traffic from blocked-off roads (and the influx of lookie loos), other cops and emergency response units headed the same direction -- and sometimes, like this time, the smell of smoke. Danny glanced at Mac as they parked around the corner from the scene. "They should have this thing out by now, right?"

Mac shrugged, opening his door to get out. "Guess we'll see."

The fire _was _out, not even smoldering anymore, when they rounded the corner. Their scene was a blackened, burned-out shell that usedto be a car. Danny shook his head at the sight of it, muttering, "Boom."

Mac threw him a glance. He shrugged in response. What was he supposed to say? It fit.

"Boom is right," Detective Angell said as she approached, echoing his thoughts. "Witnesses reported an explosion around 10:00 this morning. By the time the fire was put out..." She waved a hand at the charred mess. "There wasn't much left of the car or the body inside."

Mac looked over at the vehicle. "Do we have an ID?"

"The car is registered to a Martin Hanley, and that's his apartment building." She nodded to the drab building the car was parked in front of. "Positive ID's gonna have to come from your lab, but it seems pretty likely he's our vic."

"What do we know about him?" Danny asked.

She gave him a wait-for-it smirk. "He was a public defender."

Danny groaned. "Great. Spent his days working with scumbags."

"At least we won't lack in suspects," Mac pointed out.

"Yeah, and lucky me, I get to track them down and question them." Angell's pretty mouth twisted into a grimace. "Hopefully you guys can narrow down the list a bit."

"We'll do our best," Mac assured her.

Danny nodded towards the wreckage. "We good to check it out?"

"It's all yours."

Even given permission, they didn't make a beeline for the car. Instead they split up, thoroughly photographing the scene. There were boot prints everywhere in soot and mud, most of which had to be from the emergency personnel. On the chance their perp had stuck around to witness the destruction, Danny grabbed shots of all the prints he saw. The scattered chunks of metal and glass that had flown from the car in the explosion had to be cataloged, too.

Despite the lingering smell of smoke, the vehicle was cool enough to the touch that they could get inside it. They did so carefully, taking pictures and trying not to disturb anything unnecessarily. Mac snapped several shots of the body. It was still mostly buckled into the driver's seat. Danny took the passenger side, poking through the remains of what might once have been a briefcase. "On his way to work, maybe?"

"Maybe."

"Ten AM, though, that seems a little late."

Mac gave a half-shrug. "Maybe he was running behind schedule, or he could have worked from home this morning."

"Right. Or come by on his way to a meeting... though that doesn't give the perp much time to place the bomb, and doing it in broad daylight?"

"Unless the bomb was set last night and set for a specific time, or the perp had a remote detonator..." Mac shook his head. "It's too early to speculate. We'll gather the evidence and talk to his work. Hopefully we'll get a clear timeline of Mr. Hanley's morning."

* * *

Adam and Ell stood side-by-side, staring at the table in front of them. The table was covered with the evidence from the Donaldson case. It was a big table, but the evidence literally covered the entire surface. Adam heaved a sigh. "That's... a lot of evidence."

Ell nodded agreement. "Most of which is absolutely irrelevant to our case."

"I don't suppose you know _which _is irrelevant."

She shot him a look.

He shrugged. "Couldn't hurt to ask." He grimaced. "Can't you, I don't know..." He waved his hands vaguely in the air, wiggling his fingers.

The corners of her mouth twitched. "Magically come up with an answer?"

"Well..." He glanced around, but there was no one else in the room. Even so, he dropped his voice. "Yeah. You know, hold your hand over the table, concentrate, and the key piece of evidence flies into your hand." He suited actions to words, snapping his hand closed as though around a prize.

Ell shook her head, amused. "I'm not that good."

"So it's theoretically possible?"

She took a moment to think about that. "About as theoretically as someone programming a computer to do the same thing," she said slowly, meeting his eyes.

He let out a breath. "That's... that's pretty theoretical."

"There's still a case to solve," she pointed out. "Questions to answer. Even the best piece of evidence needs context." Or so she was constantly reminded by Mac and Stella, and before them, her professors. _Evidence without context is not evidence._

"Right." Adam looked abashed. "I know. I just thought, given what you can do..."

"It's all forensics," she told him, giving him a quick smile. "It's just a question of the tools you use."

"Yeah, well, you have some really cool tools." He grinned and moved away, towards the other end of the table.

She stayed where she was. Part of her was still contemplating his question. She'd told him the truth -- magic wasn't a cure-all by any means, especially when wielded by someone without a great deal of power. It was an attractive idea, though. What CSI wouldn't love to have a quick and nearly-effortless way to solve cases? They were always overworked, struggling to keep up with the cases that across their desks. Anything to ease that would be incredibly useful.

Reluctantly, she pushed aside the thought. It wasn't possible. Even if it had been... The magic she already used to help along their cases -- and it wasn't much, or much beyond what any of their machines could do -- that was risky enough. Adam was the only one in the lab who knew she could do anything out of the ordinary. The only reason he knew was because he'd caught her lighting a Bunsen burner with her bare hand. (Admittedly, he'd been suspicious before that. She was lucky that no one else in the lab seemed equally curious about her occasionally unorthodox methods of getting to an answer.) Doing anything bigger would draw attention and questions she'd rather not answer. She wasn't ashamed of what she was doing and she _wasn't _breaking any laws, but how exactly was she supposed to explain to her boss that sometimes it was just quicker to do a spell than to run something through the GC/MS?

She drew a breath and pushed _that_ thought aside, too. She wouldn't be using any magic at this stage of the investigation, in any case, so thinking about it wasn't productive. She focused on the table and evidence in front of her. They'd see what they had and go from there.

* * *

There were two bars within close walking distance of the alley where they'd found Detective Donaldson. Both were open from noon until 4 AM, meaning that either could be the place where the man had been drinking before his death. The hours also meant that Stella could check them out in the early afternoon, rather than waiting until evening.

She hit the one closer to the alley first. It was nondescript, relatively clean, and nearly empty given the time of day. The bartender was a big guy, maybe mid-forties -- probably the owner, though she preferred not to make assumptions like that. He greeted her amiably as she approached the bar. "What can I do for you, Detective?"

Her eyebrows went up. "Detective?"

"You got a look." He gave her a relaxed grin, clearly enjoying her surprise. "Plus, the sirens and tape down the road says someone died, and usually when that happens, a detective eventually comes by to see if I know anything."

"Do a lot of people die around here, Mister...?"

"Gaines. Randy." Mr. Gaines shrugged his shoulders. "I wouldn't say a lot, but it's New York. I've worked here for nearly twenty years. Owned the place for the last ten. Might not happen weekly but it happens enough I know the drill."

"Fair enough." Stella pulled out a picture of their vic and passed it over. "Was this man in here last night?"

Gaines took one look at the picture and groaned. "That's Frankie. Frank. Frank Donaldson. Ah, Christ. He's the one who died?"

"I'm sorry, but yes." She accepted the photo back from Gaines. Sympathetically, she said, "I take it you knew him?"

"Frankie is -- was -- one of my regulars. He wasn't in every night, and he never got hammered or anything, he just came in a few times a week and had a beer or two. Real good guy."

"Was he here last night?" she asked again.

"Yeah." Gaines nodded. Gesturing at a nearby stool, he said, "Sat right there. Like I said, just a couple of beers, nothing heavy, and then he headed home. Maybe around midnight? He never stayed real late, either."

Stella nodded, mentally filing away the info. "Did he leave with anyone?"

"Nah. Nah, Frankie, he..." Gaines leaned heavily on the bar, looking down, and blew out a breath. When he looked back up at Stella, his eyes and voice were steady, if unhappy. "Sometimes he'd spend the evening here, talking to the other guys about sports, women -- guy stuff. But sometimes he'd come in and you'd just know to leave him alone."

"He had a temper?" Stella couldn't quite hide her surprise; she'd always thought Detective Donaldson was easy-going, for a cop.

"No, no, nothing like that." Gaines shook his head emphatically. "The man lost his wife to cancer a little while back. Some days he missed her worse than others."

Stella made a sound of understanding. "Last night?"

"Was one of those nights." He shook his head. "Frankie usually walked home on nights like that. Said the fresh air did him good. He'd use that alley as a short cut."

She filed that away, too. A habit like that wasn't entirely reliable, but someone could have been waiting in the alley in case he came through.

Moving on, she asked, "With his wife gone, did he have any family? I haven't found any kin to notify..."

Gaines was already shaking his head. "He and Maureen never had any kids. Frankie was an only child and his parents were long since gone. If there was anyone else, he never mentioned them, and he would have." He lifted a shoulder. "Closest thing he had to family was his old partner. Tom Hines."

Stella nodded, recognizing the name. "He retired before Frank, didn't he?"

"Yep. He's still kicking, though, last I checked."

She'd track him down when she was done at the bar. She'd already gotten more info than she had expected, thanks to the talkative Mr. Gaines. "What about enemies?"

"Frank? Nah. I mean, he was a cop, so I guess he'd have had some, but he never mentioned anyone. Most people got along with him."

"What about last night? I know you said people left him alone, but was there anyone who seemed... interested in him? Approached him, or maybe just watched him?"

Gaines thought it over. "No..." He drew the word out. "But you know, there was a guy. Had a bad feeling about him. Not sure why -- something in how he looked. I thought maybe he was going to rob me or start trouble. I was glad when he left, but thinking about it, that was right after Frankie did. I mean, _right_ after."

_Ding, ding, ding!_ Stella got a familiar thrill at the man's words. This was a definite lead. It might go nowhere -- or it might lead them directly to their killer. She kept her voice steady as she asked, "Can you describe the man you saw?"

Gaines nodded affably. "Sure. Like I said, I was keeping an eye on him. I'd say he was early thirties, kinda lean but with muscles in his arms -- not like a guy who lifts weights but someone who works for a living, you know? He had that look, too. He was wearing a work shirt, blue jeans, baseball cap. Not clean-cut or tidy, but not like a bum. Really, there wasn't much special about him. I'm still not sure what made me suspicious."

Stella jotted down the description. With a shrug, she said, "You've been working in a bar for the last twenty years. I'd say you have instincts."

"That's what this was," he agreed. "An instinct. I hope I'm not sending you off on a wild goose chase, Detective, but I can't think of anyone else."

"Fair enough." Stella pulled out a business card and handed it to him. "If you do think of anything else, please give me a call."

"Sure thing."

* * *

The elevator opened behind Sheldon just as he passed it. At the sound of his name, he turned. "Hey, Danny." He looked quizzically at the smudge of soot on the other man's face. "You still working the Thompson case?"

"Nah." They fell into step heading down the hall. "I'm on this car bomb thing."

"Ah, right. Public defender, right?"

"Right." Danny shot him a glance. "Name Martin Hanley ring a bell?"

Sheldon gave it a thought. "Maybe?"

"Yeah, that's where I'm at, too." He grimaced. "I'm pretty sure I worked a case this guy defended, but I can't remember more than that."

"Does it matter?"

"Probably not. It's just bugging me. Like when you know you know something, but you can't actually remember it."

"Like trying to remember the name of a song."

"Exactly." Danny nodded emphatically. "Just like that. It's on the tip of my tongue, I just..." He waved a hand, dismissing it. "I'm gonna call his office, see if I can get a list of the cases he's worked."

They paused beside the lab where Ell and Adam were processing the evidence from the alley. Sheldon glanced that direction, his eyes lingering on Ell. She had a knack for drawing his gaze. Enough of one that it took him a moment to remember to reply to Danny. "That's good."

Danny was practically laughing at him. "Can you be any more obvious?"

_Damn_. "What?" he said, playing innocent.

Danny nodded towards the room. "You like her."

Sheldon shrugged it off. "We're coworkers. Friends."

"Yeah, but you like her."

"What are we, twelve?" Sheldon shook his head, glancing at Ell and Adam, who thankfully hadn't noticed the two of them loitering outside. "This isn't the time or place to be having this conversation."

Danny didn't seem to care. "Come on, Sheldon," he began, cutting off only when Sheldon turned and headed for the break room. He followed. "Alright, sorry. I'm not meaning to pry. I'm just wondering why you haven't asked her out."

Sheldon gave him a look. "But you're not prying."

Danny raised his hands in surrender. "Sorry."

He went to the counter and stopped, resting his hands on the edge. Turning, he said quietly, "There are about a hundred reasons why it's a bad idea."

Danny nodded, folding his arms. "Like what?"

"For starters, we work together."

The look Danny gave him was priceless.

He had to laugh. "It works for you and Lindsay," he conceded. "But I don't know if I could do it. What if things went bad?"

Danny shifted on his feet, nodding. "Alright. That can happen. But you're both professionals. Hell, we've all worked with people we don't like. Things don't work out, you'll deal with it. Or you'll spend six months avoiding each other and _then _you'll deal with it." He shrugged. "Next?"

"How about the fact that I'm a good ten years older than her?"

Danny snorted. "So?"

Sheldon's eyebrows went up. "So? You don't see a problem with that?"

"No. Why should I? You're both adults."

Somehow he didn't think Danny was thinking this through. "So you'd date a woman ten years younger than you."

His eyes slid to the right. "Maybe not."

"Exactly."

Danny shrugged. "Okay, alright, so she's young, but she's not a twenty-year-old bimbo. She's smart. She's got a good head. What's age matter if you two are compatible?"

"Are we?" Sheldon challenged him. "Can we be? When I turned 18, she was going into the third grade. She barely remembers the 80s. Those were my formative years. You can't exactly say we had the same life experiences growing up."

Another shrug. "Lindsay's from Montana. You think she and I had the same sort of childhood?"

"At least you had the same presidents. The same music."

"Mostly." He shook his head. "Look, I'm just saying, if the age thing is your biggest problem, you should rethink it. It's not like you're 90 and she's 20. People aren't going to look at you and think you shouldn't be together."

Sheldon looked at him steadily. "Yes, they are. Just not for the age thing."

Danny's breath hissed out through his teeth as he realized what Sheldon meant. "I guess I should have thought of that," he said in a subdued tone. "It shouldn't even be a consideration."

"But it is." Sheldon spread his hands. "Even in this day and age, a black man and a white woman, together, does more than raise some people's eyebrows."

"I guess the question is," Danny said slowly, "is that enough to keep you apart from someone you could have feelings for?"

After a moment's thought, Sheldon replied, "It means I can't start a relationship like that lightly."

"That's fair." Danny nodded, looking away. He backed off, physically. When he reached the doorway, he stopped. "Just..." He turned. "This is my last word on the subject, I swear." He drew in a breath. "Maybe it wouldn't be easy. Maybe it's not what you expect. But sometimes life surprises you."

Sheldon stood there for a while after his friend left, thinking about what he'd said. Thinking about the girl down the hall, wrong for him in a lot of ways but who made him smile. "Maybe," he muttered. He turned to pour himself a cup of coffee. "Maybe."

* * *

Half an hour later, Danny had an answer as to why their vic's name was so familiar. He also had a growing feeling of unease. He headed into Mac's office, barely greeting his boss before saying, "How much do you believe in coincidences?"

Mac leaned back in his chair. "Depends on how big the coincidence is."

Danny nodded. "I figured out why our vic's name sounded familiar to me. Martin Hanley defended a couple of cases I testified at."

"That's not a surprise. There are only so many CSIs and so many public defenders."

"Right. But see, one name in particular jumped out of the list." Danny shoved his hands into his pockets. "You remember Simon Brown?"

Mac's eyes went distant as he thought. After a moment he nodded. "Anarchist, several years ago, right?"

"Right. He set a bomb in a government building. Janitor found it. They evacuated the building and disarmed the bomb before it went off."

"He was convicted mostly on the strength of the evidence, if I recall correctly. No witnesses."

Danny nodded. "No witnesses but a _mountain_ of evidence. The guy didn't even try to cover his tracks."

"So where does the coincidence come in?"

He hesitated. "It might be nothing," he hedged, taking a seat on the couch. "But Mac, the lead detective on the case was Frank Donaldson."

Mac's gaze sharpened. "Stella's victim." At Danny's nod, he took a moment to think. "It's a link," he allowed finally. "But that case was what, five years ago?"

"Almost six." Danny spread his hands. "Makes sense if he just got out on parole, maybe. I'm gonna check that next."

"Do. I'll talk to Stella and see if we have anything else that points to a connection."

* * *

Stella remembered Simon Brown the moment Mac said his name. "The man was a real piece of work," she told the group in the briefing room. "He wasn't repentant or even upset about being caught; he was just pissed that his attack hadn't worked. He spent the court proceedings alternating between brooding silently and ranting about the evils of organized government." She shuddered a little, remembering the rage and hate in his eyes. "I was glad when they put him away."

Mac nodded to the pictures on the screen -- the initial case files for both their victims. "You think he could have done this?"

She didn't hesitate. "Absolutely. If he's out, I could definitely see him coming after the people he saw as having put him there." She gestured at the screens, frowning. "On the other hand, we have two very different crimes here."

"Right," Lindsay agreed. "Why shoot one person and blow up the other?"

"Opportunity?" Ell suggested.

Sheldon nodded. "Frank Donaldson didn't have a car. And maybe Martin Hanley didn't go out at night."

Lindsay looked at Mac. "Do we know when the bomb was planted?"

"Only that it was likely sometime that night. According to his office, Hanley usually comes in at 8. This morning he worked from home before leaving to go to court. Assuming the bomber didn't know that, he would have had to have planted it sometime before 8 AM."

"Donaldson died around midnight." Stella spread her hands. "That leaves plenty of time for both crimes. Brown could have killed Donaldson then headed for Hanley's and planted the explosive."

"Except Brown's not our guy." Danny came in, holding up a file. The rest of the team stared at him as he dropped it onto the table. "He was killed," he said emphatically, leaning on the table, "three weeks ago. In prison."

Mac grimaced ruefully. "So much for that theory."

Sheldon flipped open the file and winced. "Stabbed repeatedly. He ticked someone off."

"Yeah. No question of death -- this wasn't some escape ploy."

Something tickled at Stella's mind. "Wait a minute," she said slowly. "The death of our suspect doesn't mean the death of our theory." She looked around the table. "Brown had brothers."

"Riiight." Danny drew the word out, nodding. "I remember them. Adam and... Jonas?"

"Jacob."

"You're thinking motive?" Lindsay asked.

"Why not? The brothers were just as radical as Simon. These three were raised to hate the system. When one of them was 'captured' by it, it drove them nuts."

"They were already nuts," Danny muttered. "The brothers wound up being banned from the courthouse for causing trouble and making threats."

"They could very easily blame the people who put Simon in prison for his death." Stella glanced at Mac. "It's worth talking to them."

"Agreed. Call Flack and go pick 'em up."

Danny straightened. "If we're right, they're probably not going to stop with the lead detective and the defense attorney."

"Bringing them in keeps them from attacking anyone else," Lindsay pointed out.

"Assuming they haven't already put something in motion. Another bomb, maybe." Mac nodded to Danny. "Find out if anyone else involved with the old case has been attacked. Warn those who haven't that they might be in danger. Keep that in mind for yourselves, as well," he said pointedly, including Stella in his gaze. "In fact --"

She knew exactly what he was going to say. She stood, cutting him off firmly. "I'm leaving in the company of my own weapon and a couple other cops. I'll be fine. Besides, if the brothers are involved, their reaction to me might be telling."

Mac hesitated. She waited, game face on, until he gave. "Be careful." Casting his gaze over the rest of the group, he said, "There could be another connection between our two victims, or the crimes could be unrelated. I'll see what I can dig up. Everyone else, keep processing the evidence. Look for connections between the cases, but stay open to anything pointing in a different direction. We don't have an answer just yet."

* * *

Ell, Adam, and Sheldon had sorted through the evidence from the Donaldson scene earlier. Now it only covered half of the big lab table. The other half was covered with the evidence from the Hanley scene. They all took care to keep the piles separate -- everything was labeled by case number, but it was better to be safe than sorry. A case could be killed in court on things like chain of evidence or possible contamination.

While Adam and Lindsay worked the Hanley end of the table, Ell and Sheldon worked the Donaldson end. Sheldon went straight for Frank's clothes. There was no gunshot residue on the shirt, so the killer had probably been standing several feet away. But maybe...

He glanced over at Ell, suppressing a smile. She was staring at the collection on the table. Meditating on it, really. It was apparently part of her process. He'd commented on it one of the first times he'd noticed her doing it. She'd shrugged sheepishly, giving him a little smile. "I like to get a feel for the evidence," she'd told him then. "Sometimes if I look at it right, something jumps out at me."

He'd given her a skeptical look. "That doesn't sound very scientific."

"It's not," she'd admitted with a laugh. "But I don't do it for long, and I swear I use science the rest of the time."

He wasn't sure if it was a prayer thing, a Zen thing, or just a mental exercise. Whatever it was, it seemed to work for her. She'd look, get a hunch, and run with it. Strange as it seemed, her "hunches" had a pretty good track record of turning into solid leads.

The process was a little distracting, though, or maybe that was just him. He watched her do her thing for a few seconds. "Anything yet?"

She shot him a glance filled with amusement. "You can't rush these things, Sheldon." Even as she spoke, she reached for a stack of pictures. They were photos and lifts of shoe impressions, he saw. Ell lifted a shoulder in a shrug, offering him a smile. "I guess we'll see."

"Shoe prints?"

"Why not? There has to be some sort of sign of the killer in that alley. Unless he was hanging from a window or levitating, he walked in, so..." She gestured with the pictures. "Shoe prints."

"Yeah, but we don't have anything to compare them to."

She blinked at him. He practically saw the light go on over her head. "Sure we do." Flashing him a smile, she headed to the other end of the table. "You guys have any shoe impressions?"

"Uh, sure." Adam grabbed a stack of pictures and handed them to her. "You looking for a match between ours and yours?"

She was already spreading the photos out on the table -- Donaldson scene on top, Hanley scene on the bottom. "Well, we're thinking there's a connection between the two cases, right? Same perps? Same shoes, maybe."

"Seems like a long shot." Sheldon shrugged at the look she gave him.

"Plus, you know, there are two brothers," Adam pointed out. "Could be one shot the cop and the other blew up the lawyer."

"So it's a long shot." She shrugged, bending over the pictures. "Doesn't hurt to look."

"End cap!"

They all looked at Lindsay. She'd been digging through the debris from the blown-up car. Now she lifted a piece in triumph. Sheldon was no bomb expert, but it looked like an end cap to him, too.

Adam peered at it. "Nice."

"There are tool marks on here," Lindsay said, examining the piece more closely. "Not much help now, but once we have a warrant..."

"Find the tool, match the tool marks --"

"Nail the suspect." She and Adam shared a grin.

A find was always rejuvenating. Sheldon went back to their victim's clothes with renewed interest, focused on finding _something _useful.

Ten minutes later, he'd had no luck. He was considering moving on to something else when Ell cried out. "Got it!"

He raised his head. "A match?"

She was holding up two pictures, a grin on her face. "Oh yeah."

They all crowded around. The pictures were indeed from different cases. Neither print was complete, but there was enough of each to visually provide a presumptive match. As they watched, Ell laid a tracing of one over the other.

"That looks like a match to me." Adam nudged her with an elbow, grinning.

"Right down to this void." Lindsay touched the overlay. There was an irregular gap in both prints. "That's pretty distinctive."

Sheldon clapped Ell on the shoulder. "Score one for your hunches. Let's go tell Mac."

They ran into Danny in the hall. He was headed for Mac's office, too, with the look of a man on a mission. "You got something?" Sheldon greeted him.

"Yeah. You?"

"Yeah." He grabbed the door into the office, holding it for the group.

Mac looked a little startled at the influx, but he recovered quickly. "What do you have?"

Danny spoke up, his face grim. "The prosecutor in Brown's trial was admitted to the hospital an hour ago. Physical assault and attempted rape."

Someone behind Sheldon swore softly. Mac looked made of steel. "Talk to her," he ordered Danny. "Take Ell with you." Sheldon felt the girl beside him start in surprise. Mac didn't notice or didn't care. "Have you checked on anyone else involved in the case?"

Danny nodded, folding his arms. "The judge is overseas on vacation. His staff is gonna get in touch with the jurors, just to be safe. The janitor who found the bomb has the day off, but he's fine so far -- I told him to stay home and I sent a couple of uniforms over to his house."

"Good. I'll alert the building Brown had targeted in case the brothers try to finish what he started." Mac's gaze raked over the rest of the group. "Do we have any _physical _evidence yet linking our two crime scenes?"

"Shoe prints," Sheldon told him quickly. "Ell found matching impressions at both crime scenes."

She nodded. "They look like men's work boots, size 11."

"Good. I'll tell Stella to be on the lookout."

"We've got tool marks on the bomb materials," Lindsay added. "If she brings in the brothers' tools, we'll hopefully be able to get a match."

"I'll tell her. Good work." He included the whole team in his nod.

* * *

Traffic was a nightmare getting to the hospital. Rush hour. Thankfully, it wasn't all that far away. Danny pulled the SUV into a spot in the parking garage maybe half an hour after they left the lab. "You know, there's a reason I take the subway or ride my bike," he commented, turning off the engine. "I hate traffic jams."

Ell gave him a brief, half-hearted smile. "Yeah."

He looked her over for a moment. "You alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine."

He knew that kind of "fine." He grunted as they both got out of the vehicle. "You nervous?" he asked, heading around to pop the back.

She hesitated. "A little." She took her kit from him without meeting his gaze. "I haven't done many witness interviews," she confessed finally, "much less victim interviews."

"Ahh." They headed towards the building. "That's probably part of why Mac sent you along."

She mulled that over for a moment. "Part?"

"It's always better to have a female investigator around when dealing with a rape victim, or even attempted rape. You know? This way you can do any processing the nurses haven't done while I ask some questions, and we're all a little more comfortable." He shrugged. "If Stella'd been around, he'd have sent her instead of either of us."

"What about Lindsay?" She threw him a glance. "I mean, I know she can't go to scenes right now, but I thought she could still do interviews."

He thought about Lindsay. Thought about what was going on. "If I'm a potential target," he said quietly, "so is she." The idea of her going out right now, going _anywhere_, gave him chills. He folded his arms, trying to keep them at bay. "You and me, we're armed, we're able-bodied. We can take care of ourselves. She can't right now." That was the thought that kept him up at night when she wasn't with him. It was why he wanted them to move in together.

Ell made a quiet sound of agreement. "Sorry, you're right. That makes sense." She shot him another glance. "I'm not meaning to complain or trying to get out of being here, I promise."

"Good." He flashed her a grin. "'Cause you're not getting out of it."

They got inside and found their victim pretty easily. Danny had met her when he testified for the Brown case. If he hadn't known that it was the same woman, he wasn't sure he'd have recognized her. There were a lot of scrapes and bruises already forming on her face and other visible skin. He schooled his expression as best he could, hiding a grimace. Battered wasn't a good look on any woman.

He and Ell flashed their badges as they entered the small private room. "Colleen Wilson?"

"Yeah." On first glance, she seemed less freaked out than a lot of the assault victims he'd seen. Shaken, sure, but more angry than anything else. She crossed her arms, eying them both.

"I'm Detective Messer, this is Detective Cleary. We're from the crime lab."

She nodded slowly. "I've met you before."

"Yeah. I testified in a case you were prosecuting a few years back." He decided not to mention the possible connection between that case and her attack just yet. "Have you given your statement to anyone yet?"

She shook her head. "I started to tell the officer outside, but he said to wait for you."

Danny nodded. "Alright. Do you mind if my colleague processes you and your clothes for any evidence while you and I talk?"

Another head shake. "The, uh, the nurse did the rape kit." She shrugged a little. "I told her it wasn't necessary -- he never got that far -- but I know it's procedure. She also took pictures." Her gaze fell on a camera beside the bed.

Danny nodded again in what he hoped was a soothing manner. "Good." He stepped to the side, letting Ell approach. As she opened her kit, he asked, "Can you tell me what happened?"

Colleen took a breath and let it out slowly. "I was coming back from the coffee shop. -- I usually go in the afternoons for a pick-me-up. I..." She pressed her lips together. "I like to think I'm usually more careful than this, more observant, but I don't know. I was just walking down the sidewalk and this guy grabbed me. He yanked me into an alley and threw me up against the wall." Her hands, up so that Ell could get fingernail scrapings, were visibly shaking.

Even so, she met Danny's eyes. "I fought back," she told him. "I've taken self-defense classes. I know that my job makes me a target. This _city _makes me a target. Being a woman makes me a target." The anger was back in her eyes. "So I take classes and I work out because I swore to myself a long time ago that I would _never _be a victim." She nodded sharply to each of them. "And I'm still not. I fought that bastard off. I struggled. I bit his hand when he covered my mouth. I kicked him in the balls and while he writhed I got away." Vicious pride rang in her voice -- well-deserved, as far as Danny was concerned.

He nodded. "You did good."

"I know I did." She swallowed hard, looking away.

He did her the courtesy of not acknowledging the renewed and remembered fear that twisted her features. Ell didn't say anything, either; she continued her work quietly, swabbing the scrapes and cuts on Colleen's arms. Danny coughed, nodding again. "Did you get a good look at the guy?"

The woman drew in another deep breath, steadying herself. "Yeah. Yeah, I did. White guy, maybe late twenties. Dark hair. Blue eyes... They looked crazy," she added quietly. After a moment she shook herself. "Maybe 5'10". Average build." Her shoulders shifted. "Strong."

"What was he wearing?"

"Umm. Jeans. A sweatshirt, I think? It... might have been a hoodie." She shook her head uncertainly. "Heavy boots, I remember that. I tried to stomp on his toes with my heel, but I don't think he even felt it."

Danny could tell that got Ell's attention. Colleen saw it, too. Before she could mention it, Danny pressed on. "So it was just the one assailant -- you didn't see anyone else lurking around? No accomplice?"

That drew her attention back to him. "No," she said with a frown. "No, it was just one guy. I'm not sure I could have fought off two."

"Did he have a weapon? Knife, gun...?"

She was already shaking her head. "No. I was grateful for that. I'm not sure what I'd have done..." She shuddered. "I guess he didn't expect me to fight back. Figured I was small and therefore harmless."

Danny offered her a half-smile. "In my experience, it's the small ones you gotta look out for."

He got a small but honest smile in return. "Damn right."

* * *

"318 Fairview Road," Stella recited as they turned onto the appropriate street.

"Not all that fair a view." Flack grimaced in her direction.

"No, not really." Stella cast an eye out the passenger side window. It wasn't a slum, but it was pretty run down. Bleak, somehow, an effect not helped by the fading light outside. It had taken them longer than either of them would have liked to get to the brothers' house. Traffic, distance, general delays... She just hoped the brothers were there, rather than out attacking someone else.

She'd gotten a call from Mac telling her about the lawyer, the shoe prints, and the tool marks. The team had been busy since she'd left. The Brown brothers were looking better and better for these attacks. Adrenaline pumped through Stella's veins as she counted the house numbers. "There." She pointed to a small, sad looking house on their right. "What do you think, wait for backup?"

Flack shook his head. "If these guys are here, I don't want to give them a chance to get by us. Backup's still twenty minutes out."

They pulled up to the curb, squad car pulling up behind them. There was no vehicle parked there already. That didn't necessarily mean the brothers weren't home; they might not have had a car, this being New York. Stella stepped out of their car, senses alert. There was no sign of life from the house. She did catch furtive movement from the neighbors' house, though. Clearly cops were people to be watched from a safe distance in this neighborhood.

Flack took the lead up the walkway. Stella followed, with Officer Morency at her back. Officer Adams stayed with the cars, watching the surrounding area. They all kept a hand close to their sidearms. Flack climbed the three steps to the door and knocked.

A few seconds went by with nary a twitch of the window blinds. There was no sound from within the house, either. Flack glanced back at her. "They might not be home."

"I know." She guessed her expression was as grim as his. "If not, we'll get a warrant."

"Yeah." He turned back to the door. "C'mon," he muttered, pushing the doorbell.

A wave of heat rolled over her, coupled with the most God-awful sound she'd heard. Something slammed into her chest, throwing her back into Morency. They fell backwards together into a heap on the walkway.

For what felt like an eternity, she couldn't make sense of what had happened. Then reality reasserted itself with a _snap._

The house was burning.

The weight that had hit her was _Flack_. She scrambled out from under him, babbling his name. Morency grabbed one of his arms. She took the other. Together they were able to drag him away from the house that was swiftly turning into an inferno. Adams started to run towards them, but she waved him off. "Get a bus!" she screamed at him as they dropped Flack onto relatively safe ground. She knelt, checking him out. "He's breathing, thank God." She nearly sobbed with relief. He was bleeding and unconscious, but he was alive.

"Ma'am --"

She looked up into Morency's urgent face. _Think, dammit!_ She flung an arm out. "Go get the neighbors out of their houses," she instructed the officer. "The houses are too close together." The officer turned pale and sprinted away, towards the neighbor on the right.

Flack twitched, drawing her attention back to him. "Hey, don't move."

"Stella?" Her name was fairly clear -- she took that as a good sign.

"Yeah." She smiled, touching the side of his face. "Don't move, okay? You're hurt."

He groaned in response.

Adams came running over. "I called it in. Bus and fire department should be here soon."

"Let's hope they can get here faster than we did." She stood. "Watch him and keep an eye on that house." She was already backing up. "Anyone comes out of there, shoot them!" With that, she turned and sprinted for the neighbors on the left.

She hit the front stoop and pounded on the door, hollering, "NYPD! This is an emergency!" The occupants opened the door almost immediately, already wild-eyed. The smoke from the burning house stung Stella's throat as she waved the family past her and down towards the street. When she backed off, she could see embers starting to leap to the houses they'd just evacuated. They'd be lucky if it stayed contained to just those buildings -- she was no expert, but she had a bad feeling they were in danger of losing the whole row of houses.

There was a crowd gathering on the street as people came to gawk. Between the roar of the fire and the excited voices, things were starting to get loud. Even so, as Stella got past a group of onlookers on her way to the next house, she clearly heard the voice close behind her. "Take another step, and I'll kill you." Something hard and round jabbed her in the back.

She froze instantly.

The man behind her stepped close enough that she could feel him. "Say nothing, _do _nothing, or I will kill you. Am I clear, bitch?"

Adrenaline made her tremble, the fight-or-flight instinct arrested. In a split second, she considered and dismissed most of her options. There was no help; she was too far from the other cops, and all of the spectators were looking at the fire, not at her. She couldn't put unarmed civilians in danger, anyway. She was on her own. Shoving down the rising helplessness and panic, she nodded her understanding.

The man's sneer was audible. "Good. Walk." He jabbed her again with what she presumed was a gun. "Not too fast, not too slow."

She walked. He stayed close, guiding her steps from behind. No one looked their direction as they headed away from the blaze.

Only his insistent prodding kept her moving when she saw the van parked on the street ahead of them. There was no way she should get into that. She kept looking for a way out -- a way to get away from him, to get his weapon, anything -- but there was nothing. Her feet felt like lead as they neared the vehicle, but she kept walking. She'd find a way out. Now, later, it didn't matter. She'd get out, or the team would find her.

"Open the door," the man commanded her when they reached the van. She complied, yanking on the stiff handle of the back door. It swung open to reveal an unadorned cargo area. There was another prod in her back. "Inside. On your knees, facing front."

Stella swallowed hard and climbed into the van. She was shaking for real now, and not just from thwarted adrenaline. Only the fact that they were still visible in a public place let her keep from completely panicking. If that door closed with him inside with her, though... She knelt and closed her eyes, sending up a quick, fervent prayer.

Pain blossomed in her skull and the world went black.

* * *

Danny and Ell were silent as they walked back to their SUV. She wasn't sure what was going through his head, or if the interview they'd just done had rattled him as much as it had her. She doubted it. He was a seasoned cop, and male. The prospect of being attacked in a dark alley probably didn't hold as much fear for him. Ell shuddered a little. She'd lived in or near the city her entire life; she knew the dangers. She was a cop. And yet, if she was attacked like that -- she didn't know if she would be able to fight back the way Colleen had.

She prayed she would never have to find out.

Danny glanced at her as they stepped out of the elevator onto their level of the parking garage. "She'll be alright. And she gave us a lot -- things we can use to nail these bastards."

Ell nodded. "She did," she agreed quietly. She took a deep breath, trying to restore some of her equilibrium. "A description, for one thing --"

"Which fits what we know of the Brown boys."

"Including boots that could have made our boot print. Plus we got physical evidence." She lifted her kit, mustering up a small smile. "Hopefully even some of their DNA."

"We can only hope." Danny's grin was equally small but also fierce.

His phone rang as they reached the SUV. He reached for it but didn't answer. Instead he jerked weirdly, a strange noise coming from his mouth. Then he collapsed. On his back were the leads to a taser.

Ell whirled, her hand going for her gun. The man holding the taser was also holding a gun -- and it was pointed at her. He glared at her. "Drop it on the ground. Now."

Not getting shot sounded like a good idea. She complied. "Think about what you're doing," she pleaded with him. "We're cops."

He sneered. "I know who you are, bitch."

The man's appearance finally sank in -- white male, scruffy, work clothes, crazy blue eyes. Bandage on his hand. She went cold. "What do you want?" Her voice was barely more than a whisper.

He raked his eyes over her, leering. Her stomach turned over. _Oh God._ "I want a lot of things," he said after a moment. "I'll settle for you walking over to that van over there." He jerked his head and she looked. There was a big van parked across from their SUV. "Walk over and open the back. Do something stupid like try to run --" The gun swung away from her to point at Danny. "I'll shoot him. Then I'll come after you." His grim tone made that a promise.

All she could do was nod. At his impatient gesture, she moved, walking with jerky steps to the van. Her mind came unstuck and started racing. For possibly the first time in her life, she wished like hell that her gifts lent themselves to combat magic. Without that, and with her gun laying on the ground somewhere behind her, she had about as many resources as an unarmed, untrained civilian.

She got the van open and turned. The man transferred the gun back to her and came towards her. "Get in."

She did so, warily crouching on the dirty floor. "What about Danny?"

"Don't worry. He's coming with us." He gestured with the gun. "Turn around."

"Where are we going?" She turned away.

"You'll see when we get there." Then pain blossomed in her skull and the world went black.

* * *

"Danny's still not answering his cell. It's going straight to voice mail." Lindsay was pale. The expression she turned on Sheldon and Mac was helpless, terrified. "Where _are _they?"

Sheldon could only shake his head. "Ell's phone is going to voice mail, too." If his voice shook, too, he didn't care. Stella had been _abducted_ -- she'd disappeared and when pressed, someone had come forward saying they'd seen her get into a van with "some guy." And now Danny and Ell weren't answering their phones.

He didn't share the mental images that kept flooding his mind. As a doctor and then as an ME, he'd seen enough to give anyone nightmares. It was way too easy to put his friends' faces on the mangled bodies he'd worked on. As a CSI, Lindsay would have seen much the same. He took her hand, giving it a squeeze. "Maybe they're just out of range," he offered. "Or their phones died. We don't know."

She squeezed back just as hard. "I hope so." Her other hand laid restlessly on her swollen belly.

Mac hung up his office phone, his face grim. "Their SUV is still in the parking garage. No sign of Danny and Ell."

Sheldon swallowed hard. Beside him, Lindsay went even paler. "Oh God."

"What can we do, Mac?" Sheldon looked at his boss beseechingly. "Where do we even start?"

"By getting out bulletins that they're missing. Then we look at the evidence." Mac's voice was strong and firm. Angry.

Anger was in Lindsay's next words, too. "What _evidence_?" She pushed herself up from the couch, advancing on Mac's desk. "Stella was abducted by some guy in a white van. We don't even know that much about Danny and Ell. What do you want us to do, go to where they were taken and _hope _we find some tire treads? How much time will that waste? Time that they're in the hands of _murderers_!" She stopped, shoulders heaving. Sheldon came up beside her, sliding an arm around her back for support.

"Facts can be evidence, too, Lindsay," Mac said firmly, though his eyes were compassionate and worried. "Facts which we already have. Facts like Stella being taken in front of the booby-trapped and burning Brown house. Facts like the hospital being too far from that house for one person to have taken all three of our people."

Sheldon nodded, following his thought process. "You're saying we can assume we were right -- that the Brown brothers are the ones who took Stella, Danny, and Ell, and that they're the ones who were behind the other attacks today."

"It's still an assumption, but it's a good one."

"How does that help us _find _them?" Lindsay shook her head. "We don't know where to find the Brown brothers. Their house is gone."

"What about a place of employment? Or somewhere else they spend a lot of time?"

"There might be something on their financial records," Sheldon said slowly, thinking it through. "A storage unit, maybe, or somewhere they spend money on a regular basis."

Lindsay took a deep breath and pulled herself together a bit. "The neighbors might know something, too," she suggested. "At least they might know if they have friends who might be able to tell us where they spend their time."

Mac nodded his approval and agreement. "I'll call Flack, get him to ask around the neighborhood."

Sheldon frowned. "I thought he was hurt in the blast."

"He was, but when Stella went missing..." Mac shrugged, leaving the obvious left unsaid. He reached for his phone to make the call. To all of their surprise, it rang under his fingertips. Blinking, Mac answered it. "Taylor."

Sheldon couldn't hear the person on the other end, but the shift in Mac's expression was telling enough. His face and voice were pinched with barely contained rage. "Where are they, you bastard?"

Only Sheldon's restraining arm kept Lindsay from lunging for the phone. He gripped her tighter than he probably needed to; his hands wanted to clench into fists and he had the distinct urge to punch someone. Preferably whoever the hell was on the other end of that phone.

The conversation was brief and almost entirely one-sided. Mac tried to get a word in but was clearly cut off. Then, "Hello?" A moment later he slammed down the receiver. "Dammit!" He took a deep breath, looking at Lindsay and Sheldon. "Ransom demand. Two million by midnight. He said he'd call with the drop location."

Lindsay gripped Sheldon's arm with fingers like vises. "Are they okay?"

"He said they're fine." Despite his words, his face was grim. "He said they'd continue to be fine so long as we pay up."

"Mac, the NYPD won't pay that."

The look he turned on Sheldon wasn't reassuring. "I know. Which is why he asked _us_, not the NYPD. Us. Friends and family. He said if we involve other cops..."

"Okay, so how do we raise that kind of money?" Lindsay looked between the two men. "I don't even have a fraction of that."

At Mac's glance, Sheldon shook his head. Mac repeated the gesture. "There's no way we can raise that kind of money, Lindsay. Not in that amount of time."

"We have to do _something_! I will rob a bank if I have to!" She leaned forward, both hands on the desk, eyes boring holes in Mac. "We can't just sit back here and do _nothing_!"

Mac didn't flinch or raise his voice. "We won't be doing nothing," he rebutted firmly. "We'll go through the evidence. We may be able to find them before the deadline."

"And if we don't?" Sheldon hated to ask the question, but their chances seemed so slim. Their friends' chances.

"I'll think of something." He pointed to the door. "Go. Process. Financial records first. I'll call Flack, get him to do those interviews."

Lindsay reacted to that with alarm. "Mac, they said --"

"They can hardly expect us not to speak to our colleagues. I won't mention the ransom demand." He nodded sharply. "Go."

* * *

Stella came to slowly. Given the way her head hurt, she wasn't sure she _wanted_ to be awake. She wasn't sure what had happened; it was hard to shake the cobwebs loose. The pain and the fact that she seemed to be lying on a cold floor instead of her bed at home suggested things hadn't been going well.

Something niggled at the back of her brain. Something about a van... _Right._ She'd been abducted.

She held still for a moment, both in deference to her throbbing head and to try and get her bearings. There was no noise -- no one talking or moving around, no vehicle sounds, nothing. She risked cracking open one eye. The light was muted, but there was enough that she could make out her surroundings. It looked like she was in one of those metal shipping containers. She could see most of it from where she was. There were two other people laying nearby, but no sign of their kidnapper (or kidnappers).

She sat up slowly, groaning quietly. This was not going on her list of best days ever. She took a quick inventory, both of self and of possessions. She seemed intact, apart from the headache from where the bastard had knocked her out. She was unarmed, of course. Pockets felt empty. Clothes were all there, though, and intact. She took a moment to be grateful for that.

From her new vantage point, she could see that the other two people with her were Danny and Ell. Both were breathing; neither was conscious. Danny was closer, so she crawled over to him first. He had a knot on the side of his head that probably matched the one on the back of hers. He stirred at her touch, moaning quietly. At the sound of his name, he frowned and forced his eyes open. "Stella?"

She gave him what she hoped was a reassuring smile. "Yeah."

He grunted, his eyes closing again. "Damn, my head."

"Yeah." She touched his face just below the purpling bruise. "Looks like they hit you about as hard as they hit me."

He nodded slightly. "I came to as they were taking us out of the van. They didn't like that."

"They?" She leaned a little closer. "Did you see anything?"

He gave it a moment's thought. At least, she thought he was thinking; he might have been falling back asleep. After a second, though, he said, "Not much. I was still pretty groggy, and then they hit me... It was definitely two guys, though. I saw that much."

"The Brown brothers," she said grimly.

"Seems likely." He cracked open an eyelid. "What happened to you?"

She sat back on her heels. "The brothers' house blew when we got there. While we were evacuating the neighboring houses, one of the brothers showed up and pulled a gun on me. You?"

"Hospital parking garage. Just got done interviewing a live vic." He sat up with some difficulty. Wincing, he went on. "I don't know what happened -- Ell and I were walking and then boom, I'm out."

"You were tasered."

The quiet voice came from the other person in the small room. Stella turned. Ell was still laying prone, but she'd shifted and was squinting in their direction. "Welcome back to the land of the living," Stella said, offering a wry smile.

Ell didn't acknowledge the quip. "Where are we?"

Stella glanced around. "Shipping container, I'd say." Metal surrounded them, ugly and industrial. The only light came from the small cutouts high on the walls.

The girl sat up with a groan. She pulled her knees up in front of her, wrapping her arms around them. Peering at Danny and Stella, she said, "Why?"

"Only one way in or out." Danny glanced over his shoulder at the door. "No hope of digging out or prying off bars or whatnot. Just metal between us and the rest of the world."

Ell shook her head, grimacing at the motion. "But _why_? Why take us? They've killed everyone else."

"Not Colleen," Danny pointed out.

The girl turned a shade paler. "Yeah," she bit out, "I'm sure they were just going to attack her and leave her alive."

At Stella's questioning glance, Danny murmured, "Attempted rape."

"Ah." She felt a flash of nausea, remembering her own fear when the man had put her in the van. "I don't know why, Ell," she told the girl. "Maybe they want something out of us. Information, a new analysis of their brother's case, even something as simple as ransom."

"The department won't pay ransom, Stell." Danny's look was bleak.

Ell drew her legs closer to her chest. "My family doesn't have money for a ransom."

Stella shook her head. "It doesn't matter. What matters is that we're alive, and that gives our people time to find us." She paused, giving the girl a firm nod. "And they will find us."

"Yeah, well, I don't plan on waiting for that to happen." Danny pushed himself to his feet and went to the door. Stella watched with interest as he pushed on it. "Locked."

"Not surprising."

"Yeah." Turning, he asked, "Anyone got any tools? Or anything at all?"

Stella shook her head. Ell and Danny both checked their pockets and came up empty, too. Danny nodded thoughtfully. "Alright." He turned back to the door. "Alright. There's gotta be some way to get through it, though." Experimentally, he kicked at the door.

Stella winced at the loud bang of his foot on metal. "Danny, that much noise is going to make it pretty obvious to our kidnappers that we're trying to escape. I'm not sure that's a good thing."

"Alright, then what do we do?" He turned to look at the two women. "We can't just sit here and wait to be rescued."

He had a point. Stella looked around again. The floor wasn't completely bare; apparently their kidnappers hadn't taken the time to sweep out the container. There were bits and scraps that could prove useful. Right now, though, she was more interested in the small windows on the walls. She nodded towards them. "If we can get up there, we can at least look out. Maybe get an idea of where we are. Hell, there might even be people we can signal for help."

Danny was nodding. "Ell's the smallest. I can hoist you up," he said to her. At her shaky nod, he crossed over to her, giving her a hand up from the floor.

Stella watched them maneuver. Ell was roughly average in both height and build. She wasn't super skinny, but she was light enough that Danny didn't seem to have a problem lifting her. She peered out the small window for a long moment, looking in all directions. When Danny lowered her back to the ground, she reported, "We're in a building. An empty warehouse, maybe, or a hangar. I didn't see anyone. The only thing out there is a pickup truck."

Stella and Danny exchanged glances. "Other side?" she suggested.

Danny nodded. He and Ell moved to the other side of the container and repeated the process. As soon as the girl looked out that window, she froze. Stella could see the tension in her back. When Danny lowered her, she let out a heavy breath. "Two men," she said quietly. "Not far away; the building's not big. One of them is definitely the one who took us. The same man who attacked Colleen -- he's got a bandage on his hand from where she bit him."

"What are they doing?" Stella asked.

"Cleaning their guns." Ell swallowed, nodding in the brothers' general direction. "There's a crate next to the table. Looks like weapons. Maybe explosives."

Danny swore. "We have to get out of here."

"How? Even if we could get the door open, they would see us. We're unarmed and they know the territory." Stella shook her head. "I don't think it's happening, Danny."

He swore again, helplessly. Pacing a few steps away, he crouched, head bowed. Beside Stella, Ell leaned against the wall, closing her eyes. Left to herself, all Stella could do was pray that their team found them soon. Before it was too late -- for them and for whoever those weapons outside were intended for.

* * *

Sheldon carried two steaming cups of coffee into the computer lab. Technically they weren't supposed to have food or drink in there, but some nights they had to make an exception. Tonight seemed like one of those nights.

Lindsay was at the keyboard, her attention on the screens in front of her. When he said her name, she glanced his direction. He offered her one of the cups. "Decaf," he assured her with a hint of a grin. "I know you can't have the caffeine right now, but at least it's hot."

She took the cup, giving him a ghost of a smile. "Thanks."

He leaned a hip against the desk. "Got word from Flack. No dice on the neighborhood canvass. Telephone interviews of their coworkers didn't turn up anything useful, either. Apparently the brothers are quiet. Keep to themselves. No friends except each other."

"Great." She sighed and set aside the coffee cup. "Sounds about as useful as their financial records."

Sheldon turned so he could see the screens. "Nothing jumps out at you?"

She shook her head. "Nothing. No storage units or rentals of any kind. They do have a monthly withdrawal, but it's in cash."

"Smart," Sheldon murmured thoughtfully. "They had to have known we'd be checking their financials. I wonder how long they've been planning this..." He shook his head. Kill the arresting officer and the lawyers, then kidnap the CSIs for ransom. All people involved in their brother's case. Except Ell, who had the misfortune of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. His jaw clenched, thinking about her in those bastards' hands.

Lindsay had gone tense, too. She hit the keyboard with more force than necessary, highlighting a number of entries on the screen in front of her. "I did see this. They spent a lot of money at one particular gun and ammo store. Not once, but several times. Maybe they were more talkative with like-minded people."

Sheldon nodded, frowning. "It's almost 10 PM. The stores are probably closed."

"So? I'll call the owner at home. Employees, too. Anyone who might know something." She stared at him with a fierce look. "Someone knows _something _about where they are, Sheldon. They have to."

"They might not," he pointed out quietly. "If the brothers are as closed-off as everyone else says --"

"_Dammit!_" She turned away, closing her eyes. "I'm sorry," she apologized immediately. "I have to believe we can find them. I have to. I can't..." She swallowed hard. "I can't do this without Danny." One hand curved over her belly. "I thought I could, at first. And maybe if he'd wanted nothing to do with the baby, I could have. But he's been _there_, Sheldon. The whole time. We're making plans for a future." She looked at him, her eyes bright with tears. "He wants me to move in with him. And now..." Her face crumpled.

Sheldon wrapped his arms around her, squeezing her gently. She buried her face in his shoulder. Her entire body shook. Sheldon closed his eyes, breathing against his own unshed tears. "We'll find them." It was as much a promise to himself as to her. "We'll find them."

* * *

Silence reigned in the shipping container/holding cell for quite a while. Either the walls muffled most external sound, or the brothers were keeping quiet. Eventually, though, they all heard the sound of the truck outside being fired up. They listened with interest as what was probably the warehouse/hangar door was opened and the truck drove away. The door closed behind it, leaving them once more in silence.

After a moment, Stella and Danny exchanged a look. "Think they both left?" Stella asked.

"Doesn't hurt to look." He gestured for Ell to join him by the wall. They repeated their earlier task, hoisting the girl up to look out the window.

She nodded as she was lowered back down. "No sign of them. Or their weapons."

Stella didn't like the sound of that last part. She focused on the good news. "So they're gone. Apparently, at least." She glanced at Danny. "Think it's a trick?"

Danny shrugged. "Why? If they wanted to kill us, they don't need the excuse of an escape attempt. They'd just walk in here and shoot us."

Stella didn't miss the way Ell closed her eyes and turned her face away. The girl wasn't handling the situation well. Reminders like that didn't help, but she couldn't scold Danny for it. It was the truth. She nodded. "Okay, they're gone. Think you can get through that door?"

"Watch me." He headed over to it.

His first kick didn't have much of an effect on the door. The same couldn't be said for Ell. She nearly leapt out of her skin. "Don't!"

Surprised by her cry, Stella reached out and took her arm, hoping to be reassuring. "I know it's loud, but --"

"No!" Danny kicked again and Ell jerked forward, screaming, "_STOP!_"

Danny turned to stare at her. "What the hell?"

Stella stared, too. "Ell --"

"You don't understand." The girl was nearly sobbing. "Don't mess with the door. Don't try to open it. _Please._"

"Ell, it's the only way out of here." Stella spoke rapidly but quietly, trying to calm her down. "We have to go through it."

"We _can't_." She sucked in a deep breath. "It's booby-trapped."

Stella shot a look at Danny, who was staring at Ell like she'd grown another head. "How the _hell _would you know that?"

The girl pressed one hand to her face, almost angrily wiping away tears. "I _know_, okay? The same way I know things at crime scenes, or when I'm looking at evidence."

It took Stella a moment. "A hunch?" She let out a breath, some of her tension draining away. "If it's just a hunch, hon, it's not the same thing as knowing."

Ell shook her head violently. "For me, _it is_." She gave them both a challenging look. "How often am I wrong?"

Stella and Danny exchanged a glance. The answer was "never," at least in Stella's experience. It was uncanny. She saw the same in Danny's eyes, though there was doubt there, as well. Stella felt the same. She shook her head briefly, looking back at Ell. "I'm sorry. It's one thing to piece together information at a crime scene, even subconsciously; it's another to think that extends to 'knowing' something you can't see at all." She nodded at Danny, gesturing towards the door.

Ell started forward, desperation on her face. "You don't understand!"

Danny crossed his arms. "So explain it to us."

Looking between them, she said, "I _know._ It's not a 'hunch.' It's never just a hunch. _I know._" She drew in a deep breath. "I know the same way I can do this." She held out a hand, palm up.

Fire blossomed in her palm.

Both Stella and Danny jerked back. Stella found her voice first. "Neat trick." She found herself almost glaring at the girl. "I thought you said your pockets were empty. I guess you kept the lighter secret, just for show."

To her surprise, Ell didn't respond. Instead she frowned at the flame. Lifting her hand, she blew on it gently. The fire didn't go out or even flicker. It moved. The whole thing, in one unit, slid _out _of her palm to hover near the center of the container. There was no lighter beneath it, no plate or anything holding it there. It was just fire, hovering in midair.

Stella didn't know what to think. Or say. Danny spoke for her, though, as he gave Ell an incredulous look. "You expect us to believe that's what, _magic_?"

Ell sighed heavily. The fire dimmed and died. "You'll believe what you want," she said wearily. "But in case you decide to believe that I'm not a liar or a head case, you should know that what I am is a mage clairvoyant. I can do magic. Little stuff like that," she nodded, indicating the now-extinguished flame, "I can do quickly. Anything bigger takes time, preparation, concentration.

"As a clairvoyant, I'm fairly low-powered. I don't get visions and I can't direct it. I get... hunches. Gut feelings." She looked between Stella and Danny. "A normal person's gut is right some percentage of the time. When I get a feeling like this? It is _always _right.

"I don't care if you believe me. I really don't. Just don't try the door." She looked seriously at Danny. "If you do, I _will _try to stop you. Because if you get through that door, or even mess with it too much, we will _all _die."

Stella looked at Danny. It was hard to read his expression, beyond a certain amount of shock. Then again, he probably didn't know how he felt; Stella knew she didn't, herself. She glanced back at Ell. "I think Danny and I need to have a conversation."

"Go for it." The girl stepped back, against the wall. She slid down until she was sitting, knees drawn up and eyes closed.

Stella mimicked her pose on the other side of the container. Danny sat next to her, eying the door beside them. "So?"

She rubbed at her forehead, trying to wrap her head around this new situation. "Setting aside the question of magic and all that," she said finally, "why would the Brown brothers booby-trap the door?"

"To keep us contained while they're gone?"

She shook her head. "That only works if we know it's there. They didn't come in and say, 'Hey, try to escape and you'll get blown up.' They just _left_. They had no way of knowing we'd even suspect it was there."

Danny nodded thoughtfully. "Maybe they want us to get blown up. We're only useful to them alive and contained. We escape, they have no leverage to get whatever it is they want."

"If we're dead, they don't have that leverage, either."

"No, but they get to kill three more cops."

Stella saw the grim logic in it. "Win-win situation. Great." She shook her head. "I guess it makes sense."

"Yeah." He nodded at Ell. "So what, you think she really 'knew' it, or did she figure it out like we did?"

"I don't know." Stella looked over at her, too. "It wouldn't explain the fire thing..."

"Yeah."

She shook her head again, looking away. "Danny, it shouldn't be possible. Magic? It flies in the face of science. It says that all the laws we learn, the rules we _live_ by, are flexible. I don't know if I can believe that."

Danny nodded. His expression held a different edge to it as he looked at Ell. "What I want to know, though," he said in a low voice, "is if she _can _do crap like that, how much has she been holding out on us?" He pushed himself to his feet, heading for the girl. Mildly alarmed, Stella followed. Thankfully, he just crouched down in front of her. "So you can keep us in here. How about getting us out?"

Ell regarded him levelly. "I told you, I can't do big stuff. No fireballs, no melting metal, no teleportation. The things I _can _do can't get us out. Trust me, I've been trying to think of a way since I woke up."

Stella felt a light bulb go on. "What about a message? Tell them where to find us."

Danny shook his head. "_We_ don't even know where we are."

She blinked. "Right. I guess 'some warehouse or hangar' wouldn't be much help."

"Some, though, maybe..." Danny looked towards Ell.

She blinked, her expression distant. "I can go one better than that." She closed her eyes, laughing a little. "Damn, I should have thought of this. An air elemental." She opened her eyes, smiling at Danny and Stella's blank looks. "Air elementals always know where they are. I can summon one and send it to -- a contact. That person can then pass the information on to my cousin, Ailey -- Detective Byrne."

Stella focused on the part of that that made sense to her. "Byrne would believe this contact of yours?"

Ell nodded rapidly. "We've done this before -- though, obviously, not in this type of situation." She laughed a little, shaking her head. "Okay, um. I need some space. And quiet."

"This one of those big things you mentioned?" Danny backed off. Stella followed suit, settling back against the wall where they'd sat before.

Ell gave them a half-smile. "Medium. It's also not something I do very often." She moved away from the wall and sat closer to the middle of the container. One of the small windows was high on the wall in front of her. She closed her eyes, breathing deeply.

Stella wasn't sure how long they waited. Just as she was about to mutter a comment to Danny, a blue glow appeared in the air in front of Ell. It hovered there for a long moment. Abruptly, it _moved._ Not towards any of the humans in the room but up to the window and out. The moment it was gone, Ell relaxed. "Done," she murmured.

Danny leaned over to Stella. "Did I just hallucinate that?"

"Only if I did, too," she replied just as quietly.

"Maybe we're all going nuts."

"Maybe." She looked at Ell for another long moment. "Or maybe not."

* * *

Sheldon was in Mac's office at 11 PM when the phone rang. Mac answered, tense. After a pause, he spoke tersely. "Yeah, I got the money," he lied. "Where's the drop?" He took down the address and slammed the receiver down. His head bowed, he said, "One hour." He pounded his hand against the desk, making Sheldon jump. "One goddamn hour left, and we don't have the money or any solid leads on where our people are."

Sheldon clenched shaky hands. "We'll keep looking, Mac," he told his boss firmly. "We could still find something." They had to. He thought about his friends. Danny and Stella, the best coworkers and friends a guy could have. Ell, the girl he'd never gotten around to asking out. He shook his head and said it out loud. "We have to."

Mac sighed heavily. "Right now, we need a miracle."

They got one in the form of a victorious Don Flack. He burst through the door, triumph in his eyes. "We have a lead -- we think we know where they are!"

Mac and Sheldon stared. "How?" Mac demanded.

"Detective Byrne got a tip. She says it's legit. C'mon!"

"Wait!" Mac looked down at the paper on his desk. "I may have an idea." He handed the page to Flack, who frowned his confusion. "It's an address for a ransom drop."

The look Flack gave him was not friendly. "You got a ransom demand and _didn't tell anyone?_"

"If I had, they'd have killed our people," Mac shot back. "Now we've got a chance to kill both of our birds with one stone. I'll take a team to pick up our people; you take another team and pick up the brothers when they come to pick up the ransom."

Don nodded slowly. "One of them might stay back with the hostages," he pointed out. At Mac's nod of acknowledgement, he went on. "When's the drop?"

"Midnight."

He swore. "One hour to organize a sting?"

"Can you?"

"I will." He waved with the paper and hit the door, already pulling out his cell.

Sheldon turned to Mac. "Lindsay's going to want to be there."

The boss nodded. "Go get her and both of you get geared up. I presume you're coming, too."

"You better believe it."

* * *

Ell wasn't the praying type. Her family was very open when it came to religious beliefs, or lack thereof; she had cousins who were Catholic, Pagan, Buddhist, and anything in between (or farther out). She herself was agnostic. She didn't disbelieve, but she figured God, whatever form He took, was just as happy to leave her alone as she was to leave Him alone.

Right now, though, she found herself wishing for the comfort of prayer.

Lacking that, all she could do was huddle in on herself and _hope_ that her message had gotten through. She'd told the elemental to stay with Ailey -- Detective Byrne, her cousin -- after delivering the message to her. (The fact that her cop cousin was also a mage wasn't something she had license to tell her coworkers. She comforted herself with the fact that the lie was small, relatively speaking.) If she'd ordered the elemental to return, she would have confirmation that the message had gotten there, but then there was the risk that Ailey might have misunderstood it or...

She tried to cut off the rampant self-doubting circles her mind was going through, but it was hard. There wasn't much else to think about. Aside from their potentially imminent deaths at the hands of two murderous scumbags...

A sound outside made her flinch violently. She raised her head, looking around wildly. Stella and Danny were doing the same. "Hangar door?" Danny suggested quietly.

"Yeah, but is it the good guys or the bad guys?" Stella stood, backing away from the door. Danny and Ell followed suit. They all listened for a long moment. There were sounds, but they were impossible to make out. It sounded like more than two people, though...

Finally, a shout from outside: "Hello the container!"

Ell's knees nearly buckled with relief. "Ailey!"

Another incredibly welcome voice yelled back. "Ell! Are Stella and Danny with you?"

Stella broke out in a joyous smile. "Mac! We're all here!"

"You three okay?"

"We're fine! We'd like to get out of here, though!"

There was a pause before Ailey responded. "The door is rigged -- the bomb squad is gonna have to disarm it before we can get you out. Get as far from the door as you can and take cover if possible, just in case."

Ell didn't miss the looks Stella and Danny gave her. They didn't comment, though, and neither did she, as they all complied with the detective's order. They huddled together against the wall, heads tucked and backs towards the door.

It seemed like no time at all before they heard a distinct "all clear" followed by a clanking sound. They turned to see the door swinging open. The bomb squad guy gestured for them to come out quickly. "There's still some risk 'til we get the explosives safely away," he explained, pointing them towards the exit of the hangar, where their fellows were waiting for them.

Danny broke into a jog almost immediately. He reached the group first and grabbed Lindsay, engulfing her in a hug.

Ell slowed, looking for Ailey. The detective was talking to the chief of the bomb squad, but she spared a smile and wave for her cousin. Ell waved back and kept walking towards the rest of the CSIs, though not as quickly as Danny had done. Stella was ahead of Ell, too, her long strides taking her to Mac, for a tight hug. Meanwhile, Sheldon...

Sheldon was looking at Ell with an intensity that made her blush. She felt almost shy as she went to him. "Hey," she greeted him quietly, smiling.

"Hey." After only a moment's hesitation, he stepped forward and pulled her into a hug. She leaned into his warmth, wrapping her arms around him tightly. She felt him press his face into her hair. "You okay?" he murmured just loud enough for her to hear.

His embrace and his words nearly undid her. She buried her face in his shoulder. "No," she said shakily, laughing and crying a little. "Don't let go of me, okay?"

"Never." He kissed her temple tenderly. "Never."

* * *

Detective Don Flack hadn't been enjoying his day any more than the rest of them had been. When a day started with the body of a murdered cop and involved both getting blown up and having your coworkers kidnapped, it was not a good day. Ending it with a sting to pick up the guys who had caused all of the above, though, had the potential to balance out the scales a bit.

He crouched in a concealed position near the trash can they were supposedly using to make the ransom drop. There were cops hidden all around, waiting for one or both of the Brown boys to show. The plan was simple: their guy would make the drop, then when the bastard or bastards came to collect, they'd get jumped. Easy.

Nothing was ever that easy, of course, and nothing ever went according to plan.

Their guy making the delivery -- similar in height and build to Mac, who was otherwise occupied -- approached the can at exactly midnight. As ordered, he dropped a bag, weighted as though with two million dollars, into the can.

The can went boom.

Chaos reigned. What few civilians were in that area of the park fled, screaming. Shots were fired in the direction of the gathered cops -- one from a sniper position in a nearby building, one from ground level. Don hollered into his radio for ESU to take the building while he and his men took cover, looking for the gunman on the ground.

Ahead of Don, Officer Phillips misjudged his cover and took a bullet in the shoulder. Don didn't have time to help him; the shot had given him a glimpse of where the gunman was hiding. He levered himself upwards, firing off two shots before ducking back down. A shot struck a tree behind him. He saw Officer Adams make a shot and he took a chance, bouncing up as the gunman fired towards Adams. With a clear line of sight, he got two more shots off.

Both hit.

The bastard hit the ground with a satisfying thump. Don called into his radio for buses for his people as well as the perp. He checked on Phillips and then left him in Adams' care to check on their gunman. The guy was conscious and not obviously bleeding -- he was wearing a vest. Bruised, then, and winded, but otherwise unharmed. Don grinned down at him. "You'll live, I think. Jacob Brown? You're under arrest." He paused to listen to his radio. His grin got wider as he added, "Just like your brother."

* * *

Stella laughed as Mac passed out the champagne. "Paper cups?"

"We didn't have anything fancier, sorry." He handed her one with a grin.

"And for Lindsay..." Adam handed over another cup with a flourish. "Sprite."

"Thank you, Adam." She smiled at the lab tech, accepting the cup. "I appreciate the thought." She leaned into Danny, who Stella was pretty sure hadn't been more than two feet away from her in the time since they'd been rescued.

Rescued. Had it only been two hours since they'd left that container? It almost felt like a dream. Given some of what had happened, it might as well have been.

She shot a glance at Ell. Like Danny with Lindsay, Sheldon had barely left her side since they'd gotten out. Stella was glad. The whole thing had clearly taken something out of the girl. She was quieter than usual, almost to the point of being withdrawn. Stella couldn't blame her; she just hoped the situation hadn't damped her spirit entirely.

Mac interrupted her thoughts by raising his paper cup and offering a toast. "To family," he said solemnly, looking around the group. "Though many lives were lost today, those closest to us were returned safe and unharmed. Let's all be thankful -- for each other, and for the fact that our time together was not cut short."

"Hear, hear," Stella murmured. The others echoed her, raising their cups. "To family!"

* * *

In a hospital in New York, surgeons fight to save the lives of three police officers. Two have gunshot wounds; the third has extensive burns and wounds from an explosion. All three were injured in the line of duty. The medical staff works through the night. In the end, two pull through. The last does not. His family weeps -- his wife, children, and teammates, together. The city will mourn him, as it does all its fallen heroes.

The celebration in the crime lab breaks up and the members of that family go their own ways. One offers another an escort home. It is the doctor and the mage. She knows that she will have to address the revelations she made that day; that she will have to tell her truth to this friend that is becoming more than a friend and hope that he accepts what she is. That is for another day, though. For tonight, she accepts his offer and his company. She will deal with the rest some other time.

The expectant couple goes home together, unable to stand the thought of being separated this night. For the moment they are in the apartment that belongs to the man alone. The woman does not tell him, but she has decided to accept his suggestion of finding a place to call their own. They are a family already, and she does not want to lose any of whatever time they may have together.

The rest of the team goes home to sleep. The last to do so is the one who was not at the celebration. He is in central booking, and he is putting two men through processing. Two brothers, who acted in twisted honor of their slain kin. They will have the chance to spend whatever is left of their lives together. The detective finds it fitting. He sees them off with pleasure and then puts them out of his mind. He thinks instead of food and sleep. There is hope in him, too; hope that tomorrow will be a better day. Smiling at that thought, he heads for home, and well-deserved rest.


End file.
